Justice
by Connie Nervegas
Summary: Part 2 of the TMNT Day Jobs challenge at SS. Leo balances life as an attorney, ninja and father.


_This is part of a big ole challenge that went insane at Stealthy Stories. There will be a story about each brother plus Splinter. Actually, two for Raph since he has two jobs. The other authors are M.D. Owen, LilNinjaWolf, BlowUpMyHeart, and Bubblyshell. _

_M.D. Owen's first story is "GreaseBoys" posted here on her profile. I don't think I can add external links in ._

_/s/6553912/1/GreaseBoys_

_Just stick that on the end of the address and you should get it._

_It is also up in the round robin section of Stealthy Stories under the title "Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job."_

I sat up straight in the darkness of my room. When did the Van Vleet answer need to be filed? Was it the twelfth? The ninth? It was now the fifteenth. I reached automatically for my phone and then stopped when I saw the alarm clock glowing 3:14am. Nobody would be awake. Gentry might be awake, but she wouldn't be any help. I hired her out of duty, not because of her great legal skills.

I have three paralegals. Only Sandra is competent. I give her extra credibility points since she has only been in the country from Brazil for five years and speaks mainly Portuguese. Gentry has no excuse. She's been in the country her whole life and sometimes I suspect that she speaks English as a second or even third language.

I had nothing to but get up and try to calm myself down. If I had missed the filing deadline I would be sanctioned. I could live with that. My name would only be listed in the BAR Journal until the end of time. Leonardo Hamato: failed to exercise duty of care. Suspended. Until I'm old. After I'm dead. It will still be published every month.

I thought about watching TV for a change. What's the use of having the biggest TV I could find if I never use it? I looked under the leather couch cushions. No remote. Only Mikey's driver's license. That ass. Was he driving around without it? Probably didn't even know he'd left it here.

Was it the twelfth? Maybe the tenth. I took the New York Court Rules off the shelf and the book automatically fell open the section on pleadings. No, that wouldn't help. I already knew the time I was allowed to respond to the complaint. I couldn't remember I was served with the summons.

I needed to meditate. Work off some stress. Should I call Raph? No. If Raph was asleep then he would scream at me and that wouldn't be at all restful. And there was always the risk of that old lady he lived with answering the phone. I'm grateful that she puts up with him and feeds him, like a big green stray cat. But I never know what to say to her. And she can never remember my name and I wasn't in the mood to scream "LEONARDO!" into the phone for five minutes.

I sat in my private dojo in my basement and inhaled the incense, breathing deeply. Let go. Just relax. Did Gentry use Federal Rules of Civil Procedure on that bankruptcy case? Why I agreed to take a bankruptcy case is beyond me. I don't know how to use the bankruptcy software. My paralegal Jessica, a simpering little blond fresh off her internship, said, "Oh, it'll be easy. The program does everything for you. It files everything. I used it in school." Easy, my shell. Stupid federal courts. Stupid bankruptcy trustees. I thought Jess would be more reliable when I hired her. She showed me a cartload of documents she'd drafted in paralegal school and I assumed that she knew what she was doing. But every morning she's in my office, asking the most basic things. She still can't remember to put a proof of service on anything.

Relax. Don't think about bankruptcy or proofs of service. Music. I needed music. I turned on a CD and listened to Erik Satie's Gymnopedie Number 1 and put the song on repeat. I told Raph to play that at my funeral the other day and he didn't say anything. I don't know if he heard me or not. Then I inhaled deeply, feeling the air filling my chest from the diaphragm up. Let it out slowly. Had I done any katas yesterday? Oh, yes. After that evidentiary hearing.

No. Breathe. Breathe deeply. Breathe… Did Harris remember to take her homework with her last night? One of my children. My… children…

They are really Gentry's children. She has four children by seven fathers, including me. I find that quite an accomplishment. I spent the greater part of my undergraduate career listening to her crying over her boyfriends. Then one fateful June day she told me that she had been knocked up and I promised to look after the child in any way she needed.

Then she had another. And another. And another. And I promised the same thing every time. Here's the thing. I enjoy it. I like the comforting and running around and baths and bedtime stories. I feel guilty for some reason, like it's a very unreasonable thing to enjoy the company of the children who call me Dad.

And Gentry. I have no romantic interest in her. I never have. Well, there was that brief period when we were married, but that was a fluke. So now, not only have I promised myself to her children as a father, I also promised myself to her in other ways. I went to Las Vegas last year to see Celine Dion in concert, but none of my brothers would go with me. So I recruited Gentry and April. It was a little like a girl's night out, with me as the most butch girl. We drank fruity drinks the first night and I listened to them talk about the hot guys walking around. But then Gentry came into my room at 3am in nothing but her underwear and before I knew it she was Mrs. Leonardo Hamato and we were leaving one of those chapels with a drive-in. As soon as I left the building I informed her that I was going to go file an annulment. But we had to wait four days for the hearing and I decided that I might as well not waste my duty as a husband in the interim. Ironically, we never did make it to the show.

Sigh. I still hadn't meditated one bit. I was staring at the wall, wondering if I had remembered to refill Delaney's bee-sting prescription. I have legal guardianship over that one. We still don't know who the baby daddy was. But that's okay. She's mine and I don't have to share her with any buck toothed meth head.

I meditated, or so I called it in my head to alleviate feelings of uselessness, for two hours. It was now 5am and time to get ready for work. So I did the only reasonable thing and laid down on the couch, face down and fell asleep, waking up at 6:30am in a panic, grinding my teeth because I had no time for a shower. But that's okay. At least I don't smell as badly as Raph. He smells like an old shoe that's been left in a swamp for a year. Finding three piece suits that fit a giant turtle is extremely difficult, but thankfully I have enough money to buy custom fitted jackets and pants. I hate wearing clothes that make my torso and limbs look chunky. I have never been remotely overweight and resent wearing anything that could possibly give that illusion. I was often called "the fat green guy" in college. Jocks passed him in the hallway, mumbling about my perceived weight problems. Little did they know that I could have kicked their asses from across the room.

I buttoned my shirt and felt a wet tongue on my foot. An elderly German shepherd stared up at me, his eyes huge with dependency. Reminded me of Mikey as a teenager.

"I'll get your breakfast in a minute," I said. "Does this shirt go with the tie, Sarge?" The dog wagged his tail, but offered no helpful criticism.

Sergeant Major used to live with Raph and his old lady until her cat scared him so badly that he knocked over the dinner table in a desperate attempt to escape his little hissing attacker. So I offered to house him temporarily until Raph found his own place or intruded on somebody else until they were tired of him. But so far he is still with the old lady and I now considered Sergeant Major my own dog.

I passed the Autozone where Raph works on the weekends and smirked to myself. If it were the weekend, I would have gone in and pestered him. Maybe on Saturday, I'll stop in and ask for unnecessary repairs to just to see Raph tell me that my 2009 LS11 is in perfect working order. In front of his coworkers and patrons.

The law office of Leonardo Hamato is a few blocks from the high school where Don works, trying hard to resist the urge to blow up his school. At least it gives me a client held on retainer. Even if it is my own brother. Don's various negligence lawsuits took up a considerable part of my time during my first year of solo practice.

Last year the big case was the patriotism riot case. It made The Associated Press and there was one day of national outrage before Kim Kardashian had a face lift and everybody forgot about it. For Columbus Day Don had organized the school orchestra to play "The 1812 Overture." He thought it would be nice to have a patriotic performance. That's what he claims anyway. He really wanted a good way to get out of class for the second half of the day. It was also an excuse to have the local VFW bring in cannons so they could accompany Tchaikovsky and the children could hear "The 1812" as it was meant to be heard. Explosions and all. But his plan backfired. Or went according to plan. Who knows. My mild mannered brother has turned out to be the Master of Chaos. It's always the quiet ones.

The program started on a low note. "Battle Hymn of the Republic." "The Star Spangled Banner." But he forgot about the rousing nature of patriotic American marches. Or rather the relentless and psychotically manic optimism of our forefathers. The songs progressed with "The Light Calvary Overture," "Anchors Aweigh," "Over There," "Washington Post March," "William Tell Overture," and then "Stars and Stripes Forever." By the time the orchestra played "The 1812 Overture" the teenagers were whipped into an orgy of patriotism. They knocked over the principal's car, spray painted the vice principal red, white and blue and threw a cannon ball through the gym window.

"Good morning, Jessica," I said as I opened the door of my tiny lobby. It is possibly the smallest law office lobby on the face of the earth. As soon as I had taken one step towards the receptionist's desk I was standing in front of it.

"Hey, Leo. Oh, look at your suit. That color's really good on you." She blew a bubble with her gum and smiled.

Blue. Of course it's good on me. I always wear blue. I had a feeling that she was being nice to me for some ulterior reason, but couldn't put my finger on the cause. I think she's been hinting around for a raise. "Thanks, Jess. You look nice. Wearing a skirt again, I see." I can give perfunctory compliments too. "Do you have any briefs for me?"

Her mascara coated eyes grew wide.

"Let me rephrase that. Give me the briefs that I ordered you to prepare for me." I held out my hand.

"You'll have to fight me for them, ninja master," she said, looking back down at her computer screen.

"Oh, really? Don't tempt me." I have this flirtation disease that I'm trying to cure. I'm much better with it than I used to be.

Sandra was waiting for me in my office. I said to her, "What date was the Van Vleet answer due?"

She said, "It was due the ninth, Mr. Hamato."

I think I must have hyperventilated because she patted me on the shoulders and said, "No, no, I am joking! You are so cute when you are upset."

They take advantage of me on a regular basis.

I took the time to do some katas in my office. I always take off my suit and loosen my shirt because I tear seams otherwise. I'm thinking about putting an end to this because I don't get anything done. Jess and Sandra, Jess in particular, seem to find the need to run in and interrupt me every two minutes and I never get anywhere.

Then I heard this loud voice saying, "Where's the lawyer? Are you Leonardo Hamato? No, you're a girl. Are you… you're a girl too. Where is he? I need a lawyer." I heard Sandra's apprehensive voice pointing him towards my office and then Jess came scurrying in the door.

She flapped her arms and said, "Quick! Put your clothes back on!" I was standing there with a katana in each hand and nothing on but my unbuttoned shirt and my tie loose around my neck. Now I don't worry about people catching me "naked" but people seem awfully put off by it. Clients don't like seeing their attorney naked. Well, some of them do… but I avoid those kinds if I can.

So Jess helped me get dressed. I feel bad for them, having to dress their boss. She was zipping up my fly as the stranger came into the office. He had a cell phone to his ear and said, "Tell Janice that I want him to steal my brother's car and push it off a cliff." He looked at me and said, "Sorry, if you're busy getting some from your secretary, but I need a lawyer. Hey, you're green too. You know a grease monkey named David?"

"No." It was a half truth. "What do you need?"

Jess left the room and shut the door. I think the man's enormous mole scared her away. I shouted after her, "Work on that J.O.D.!"

Just then I noticed that the guy was covered from head to toe. He was wearing one of those Elmer Fudd hunting caps on top of a ski mask that covered his entire face and had thick gloves on his hands. I could see the mole through a gap in his mask. I said, "You can take off your things, if you like."

"Nope. Sorry. What's that, Cassandra? I needed more salve last week. If I give my wife Herpes, it's your fault. Anyway, I'm a vampire and if I take this off, I'll explode. My name's George."

I just nodded. I've heard stranger things from clients.

"Do you kill people?"

"Yes." Oops. Wrong answer. "I mean, I don't know what that means, sir."

"I need somebody knocked off. He's dating my daughter. Could you send half a boat to Puerto Rico? What's the going rate for that? Do I need special postage or could I just send it through the post office? Do they have special flat rate boxes for that?"

"Well, sir. I can assure you that I am not any kind of assassin for hire."

He pointed at my katanas and throwing stars that I keep mounted on the wall behind my desk next to my Columbia Law School diploma. I dust the frame every night before I go home. "I am a ninja, but I do not work for hire. I have more honor than that. I am not ashamed of my heritage or…"

"Yeah, yeah. Tell Janice that this green guy needs to get laid."

"Excuse me!" I do need to get laid and badly, but I resent an ugly stranger who thinks he's a vampire saying so. Raph had better have a good reason for sending him here besides getting a few seconds of amusement.

Gentry came in my office wearing one of her fuzzy pink tops that shows every ounce of her cleavage and said, "Good morning, Leo. I think I called that guy I was supposed to call yesterday. Miller Jenson?"

"Privilege! Privilege!" She can't just yell the names of the clients in front of people. She should know that by now.

And then George the Vampire gasped and said, "Gentry! My wayward harem girl! You wrote me that letter saying that I got you pregnant. Sorry I forgot to answer. I guess I should have sent some child support. Janice, send Gentry Harris some snow cones."

I said before I could stop myself, "How could you send someone snow cones? Wouldn't they melt?" I needed to get rid of him and get some work done. I had a motion that afternoon.

He rolled his eyes and said, "Well, not in the winter. Tell Cassandra that 'Ride of the Valkyries' is going to be my new theme music. Tell her to throw out the 'Vader's Theme' sheet music and change the doorbell chime."

Gentry slapped him across the face. I wasn't shocked or anything. She enjoys slapping men. She did that to me once and I slapped her right back and she never did it again. She said, "You scumbag! You left me pregnant and alone!" That was an extreme exaggeration. She had three boyfriends at the time Delaney was born. I presume he's Delaney's father. The other three have names on the birth certificates anyway.

He yelled into the phone, "Where's my scare the shit out of people suit? Is it clean yet?"

Whatever that means.

And then I heard, "Daddy!" There was my little Delaney. She's still a little too young for kindergarten, but she'll be going next year. So her mother leaves her at day care with Owen, the toddler. Mostly all he does so far is cry and say, "No!"

When she said, "Daddy!" both myself and Vampire George answered, "What?"

But she ran to me and I picked up and asked her why she was out of daycare and why her shoes didn't match. She threw up on some other kid and so Gentry had to pick her up. That meant she was spending the day throwing up at the office.

Naturally, I forgot about Vampire George and spent a whole minute listening to her tell me about a kid in her playgroup that her took her toy.

Then I heard Vampire George saying, "Janice, make up another room for my new kid. I'm going to rename her Lenore Fatima Meadow Shirley MacLaine Windsor."

Gentry just stared at me. She has no spine at all. Either that or no brain. Or maybe a combination of the two conditions. It would explain a lot. I said, "Sandra, why don't you and Delaney go make some copies. Go play with the copy machine."

Vampire George reached out to grab Delaney as she passed by and I sent my knee into his skull. Just a reflex. Don't touch my brothers or my kids.

His nose was bleeding through his face mask and it oozed through, but he didn't take it off. He held his free hand in the air, pointing to the heavens, and said, "I vow by the soil of my homeland that's on that spot over the septic tank where the grass won't grow back that I will have my child! I will not let her be raised by a big talking frog! I will have vengeance! My legions will fall upon you! But first I will appease my wrath with the blood of your household! Where's that foreign secretary? What's her blood type? I only drink and A and B. Janice, are any of the munchkins from 'The Wizard of Oz' still alive? It's my anniversary? Send my wife a condolence card."

So I grabbed him by the coat and said something like, "If you ever touch my child again, I will personally castrate you. And then I'll filet your testicles in front of you. Get it?"

He nodded really vigorously. I wonder if I could actually do that.

And then Delaney trotted in the room and yelled, "Quit yellin' at my daddy!" and kicked him right in the shin. That's my girl.

So I tossed Vampire George out of my office on his ass into the snow. And Raph flatters himself to think that he's the tough one.


End file.
